


Miles of Blue

by Beckers522



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, 君の名は。| Kimi no Na wa. | Your Name.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Astronomy, Body Swap, Canon Temporary Character Death, Comet - Freeform, Drama & Romance, Dreams, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Inspired by Kimi no Na wa. | Your Name., London, Love Confessions, Lower Tadfield (Good Omens), M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Lovers, Teacher Aziraphale (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), Time Travel, astronomer crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29176605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckers522/pseuds/Beckers522
Summary: Anthony is an aspiring astronomer living in the heart of London. With a full course load and full-time job to pay for school, he doesn’t have time for much else. Perhaps the stress of his daily life is finally getting to him. That would explain all these strange dreams he’s been having and why he can never seem to remember them upon waking back up.Aziraphale is a simple school teacher living in the quiet town of Tadfield. Nothing ever happens here, which suits him just fine. He likes the town, but has always dreamed of moving to London and opening up a bookshop to house his collection. Books have always been a way to escape - something Aziraphale has not needed as much help with recently thanks to the strange dreams he has been having. Dreams of something and someone  that he can never seem to remember, no matter how hard he tries.Two souls who have never met, and whose lives are inexplicably connected through their dreams. Join them as they navigate the complexities of not only their own existence, but each other’s as well. Will they ever manage to find each other in the midst of the millions of people that call England home - or at the very least, will they ever manage to remember each other's names?
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 45
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Prologue (With Cover Art)

"Once in a while when I wake up, I find myself crying. The dream I must have had I can never recall. The sensation that I've lost something lingers for a long time after I wake up. I'm always searching for something, for someone. This feeling has possessed me I think from that day...That day when the stars came falling. It was almost as if...as if a scene from a dream. Nothing more, nothing less than a beautiful view." - Your Name (2016)

"Looking up at the sky after shedding a stream of tears, I could see for miles of blue, it's never been so clear." -Nandemonaiya lyrics (Your Name song)  
  


(If for some reason you can't see this image, it is also hosted on my instagram (@beckers_522) https://www.instagram.com/p/CKxcq6KlO2F/)

* * *

_**From the diary of Aziraphale Zacchaeus Fell** _

**_August 15th_ **

_Every once in a while, when I wake up, I find myself crying. Each one of those times, I know I’ve been dreaming. There’s a certain sensation that goes along with dreams - this almost weightlessness as you shift in and out of realities. An inexplicable etherealness that is completely obscured by a thick cloud of confusion the moment my eyes open and I return to the waking world._

_Of course, I never remember these dreams. They leave my mind as quickly as they enter, as elusive as a butterfly on a bright summer’s day. Surrounding me in abundance, but always dancing just out of reach._

_The sensation that I’ve lost something lingers for a long time after I wake. I suppose that’s the reason for the tears. I feel like I’m always searching for something - for someone. Just like the dreams, they always seem just out of reach._

_I only wish I knew who it was. Are you out there somewhere? Or simply some figment of my imagination? How do I know you? Have we met before? Perhaps, in another life._

_Who are you?_

_I only wish I knew your name._

* * *

**_From the diary of Anthony J. Crowley_ **

**_August 15th_ **

_The feeling that I’ve lost something important has been with me from the day the stars came falling. That was the day my passion for astronomy truly began. I’ve always loved the night sky, but seeing it from London is not always an easy task. Someday, I’ll save up enough money and move out of this city. I’ll get my degree and buy a nice little cottage in the countryside. Maybe I’ll do some research for the university, or write a book documenting my findings. The only thing I know for certain is that I will be spending the rest of my life looking up at the heavens. There’s nothing else in this world I’d rather be doing._

_As strange as it may seem, and as sure and solid as my life feels now that I know which path I’m on, I feel as if I’m constantly searching for something - for someone. Are they someone from a dream? A memory from another life? The harder I try to figure it out, the more I seem to forget them. Maybe that’s the reason I often find myself crying the moment I wake up. I feel as if I’ve lost something important. But I can’t for the life of me figure out what._

_Who are you? Where do I find you and how are the two of us connected?_

_Do you dream of me too?_

_I only wish I knew your name._


	2. Who Are You?

_Anthony. Anthony!_

_Don’t you remember me?_

_My name is…_

**_Aziraphale_ ** _!_

Crowley bolted up in bed, the name in his mind already fading like the echo off a mountainside. What a strange dream. What had it been about again? He’d been in London, that much was for certain. After living his whole life in the city, the man ought to recognize it by now, even in a half delirious state. He had been in London on a train. Or the subway. It was hard to pinpoint now that sleep was rushing away from him. With each passing second, the details grew fuzzier and fuzzier. Pretty soon they would vanish completely, like they always did.

Blinking, the man looked around and realized he was still dreaming. That was the only explanation to how he had ended up inside this strange room. A strange room that was very obviously NOT in London. The air was too fresh here. The birds sang too loud. Not to mention the plain and simple fact that the decorations in this room were the complete opposite of his style.

“Honestly,” he muttered to himself as he rolled back over, pulling the tartan quilt up over his head. “Who likes tartan anyways? And who in their right mind has this many books? Might as well live in a library.”

The plan was simple. Roll over, close his eyes, and he would be back in his stylish flat in no time. Back in his black silk sheets and minimalist decoration. In the heart of the city where cars honked at each other all hours of the day or night and no matter how clear the skies became, the stars were always just out of sight.

Before he could make any headway, a soft rap sounded against the door. At first, Crowley ignored it. Then it sounded again - louder this time. More insistent.

At the third knock, Crowley angrily flipped himself over to face the dark wooden door, a deep scowl carving its way across his features. Didn’t people understand the concept of beauty sleep? Or that dreams should be pleasant and comfortable? How was he supposed to enjoy any of this with that constant noise keeping him from drifting back off into timeless bliss?

“What?” the man grumbled in a voice that was not entirely his own. Crowley frowned, subconsciously reaching a hand up to touch his throat as the door creaked open just a bit. In the small portion of the hallway he could see stood a tall, thin man. Only part of his face was visible from behind the door, but Crowley could make out the side of a pale cheek and the thin black and gold framed glasses.

“Sorry,” the man murmured, still hiding behind the door. “I don’t mean to intrude, but you’re usually up by now and I was on my way to work, you see, and just figured I would pop in on you, just to check and make sure everything was alright.”

Crowley sighed and pushed himself up, reaching up a hand to brush the hair out of his face. When his fingers brushed against bare skin, the man paused, a frown creeping onto his face. What in the - ?

“You do have class today, after all,” the stranger continued when Crowley did not answer right away. Momentarily distracted from his sudden loss of hair, Crowley turned back to the door. The man speaking to him had inched the barrier open a tiny bit more, showing enough of himself now that Crowley would likely be able to identify him again. Not that he would ever need to, of course. This was just a dream. One that he would most certainly forget upon waking up.

What use did he have in remembering dreams?

“Right, then,” the man gruffed, still a bit confused as to why his voice sounded so strange. Weren’t dreams supposed to make sense while you were experiencing them, and only start to fall apart logically once the person woke up? It seemed strange to Crowley that he would be alarmed by something as simple as the sound of a voice, but the more and more he spoke, the less and less he sounded like himself at all. “I best get moving then. Thank you, erm - “

Crowley paused, realizing he had no idea what this man’s name was. The limited clues he had indicated he was probably a flat mate of some sort, but his ability to deduce that didn’t help the fact that he couldn’t come up with the proper _name_ to use.

“Newton…?” The other man seemed equally confused. “Aziraphale, are you sure you’re alright? You didn’t hit your head or anything at recess yesterday, did you? I know those kids can be a bit wild sometimes. Based on what you’ve told me.”

Recess? Class? What in the world was this man talking about? It almost sounded as if he was suggesting Crowley was some sort of teacher, which was so very far from the truth, it would have been humorous, had Newton not sounded so serious.

And who was this Aziraphale character? This man, Newton, seemed to honestly believe it was him. But that couldn’t be right, could it?

Quickly, Crowley rose from the bed, shuffling across the floor until he reached what he assumed was the closet door. A quick grasp at the door handle revealed a bathroom instead. While not _exactly_ what he’d been going for, it did have a mirror. A half-sized one, hanging directly over the sink as he hovered in the doorway. 

Crowley stared. A set of bright blue eyes stared back at him. Stranger’s eyes set into a stranger’s face on a stranger’s head covered with white-blonde curls that he was certain were not his own.

There was a man standing inside that mirror that he did not recognize. Crowley took a step forward to investigate. The reflection did the same. Crowley frowned. So did the stranger.

What in the world was going on?

“Thanks for checking on me Newt,” he managed to call back, moving to shut the door, his eyes trained on the mirror the entire time. “I’ll be up and ready to go in ten minutes!”

Behind him, the bathroom door slammed. At the exact same time, the door in the mirror closed too, leaving Crowley to face off with this strange dream-hallucination alone. 

“Right,” he muttered, sauntering forward until he was leaning up against the porcelain sink. “Just what exactly is going on here?” 

Naturally, the man in the mirror didn’t answer. As far as he could tell, Crowley _was_ the man in the mirror. He had no idea why his dream-self had decided to take on the form of a slightly heavier, blonde haired man, but it had. For the time being, it looked like he was going to have to roll with it. 

“Dreams are so weird,” he muttered to himself as he turned the faucet on and submerged his hands into the running water. Even the chill of the moisture against his face wasn’t enough to shock him back into the waking world, so Crowley shrugged, got himself ready, and stepped back into his temporary bedroom.

First thing, he needed to figure out just where exactly he was going. Newton had said something about class. Was he some kind of teacher? And if so, what school did he teach in?

Crowley’s eyes flickered to the bedside table. There was an easy enough answer to all this. All he had to do was pull up a map on his smartphone and do a quick internet search. A brief glance out the window told the man he was in some kind of rural, country town. While London may have thousands of schools in the city alone, a place like this probably had half a dozen maximum. Maybe even less. 

He would find where he needed to be in no time.

Except.

Except there wasn’t a phone on the bedside table. There was nothing on the bedside table at all except an empty glass of water and a small leather bound book. Crowley frowned and redirected his attention, wondering where else in the room it might be. His frown grew even deeper when his eyes drifted across dozens of shelves crammed full of books, only to land on a small wooden desk with a blocky, black device plugged into the wall behind it.

“Did I land myself in a different century?” the man muttered out loud as he reached forward to pick up the brick-like phone. “I didn’t even know they still _made_ these.”

What was he supposed to do now? Sure, this phone could absolutely make a phone call if he needed it to and would probably still work if it was simultaneously run over by a bus and thrown into the ocean. But it _certainly_ couldn’t help him figure out the layout of the town.

Who _was_ this man? A brief glance into the closet revealed an array of khaki pants and pale button up shirts. The tartan comforter still lay bunched up at the end of the bed where Crowley had left it, and the bookshelves around the room made him feel like this Aziraphale was trapped in a different century. It was the 21st century and he didn’t even have a phone capable of internet connection. 

Crowley dressed quickly, making sure to grab his phone on the way out the door. His bedroom lead to a narrow dark hallway with another door to his right that he assumed had to be Newton’s room. Crowley didn’t know for sure, but he assumed Newton lived with him. Perhaps if he hurried, he could catch the other man and somehow figure out where he was supposed to go without making a complete and utter fool out of himself.

“Oh,” Newton remarked as Crowley entered the living room. It was a small space, with a small sofa, table, and built in bookshelf tucked up next to the stone fireplace. Cozy, quaint, and not at all Crowley’s usual style. Still, he found himself smiling at the sight, imagining what life might be like here, away from the chaos and buzz of London.

“You got ready quick. Want to walk together, then?”

Slowly, Crowley turned his attention away from the room and toward the stranger who was speaking to him. He blinked once, trying to register the words. Walk….together? Did Newton work at this school too?

“Oh,” the man continued, his cheeks beginning to flush, though Crowley was sure he hadn’t said anything worth being embarrassed about. “I must’ve forgotten to tell you. Your brother - erm, Gabriel - called over. Well, his secretary called. He’s probably much too busy to give us a ring. Anyways,” Newton paused, releasing the rest of the air from his lungs before continuing in a, thankfully, much more coherent way.

“He canceled our appointment, so I was able to move TPS up on my list. I’m meeting with the principal this morning to figure out what computers need fixes and upgrades and such. I’ll be a bit early if we leave now, but I don’t mind the wait if you don’t mind the company.”

It took Crowley an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure out that the letters ‘tps’ most likely were in reference to the school they were headed to. He had no idea what the ‘T’ stood for, but the ‘P' was most likely in place of ‘preparatory’ and the ‘S’ was obviously ‘school’. It didn’t sound like Newton was a teacher there, but rather someone who was good with computers.

He supposed it really didn’t matter. The man could be an astronaut headed to mars and Crowley would be glad for someone in this strange dream to show him which way he needed to go.

Glancing down, Crowley’s eyes were drawn to a simple pair of brown shoes standing by the door. Next to them was a faded leather bag stuffed full of what he assumed were papers, binders, and a handful of books and other supplies. Everything a teacher might need. Crowley didn’t know the first thing about teaching, but he was clever - and this was only a dream, after all. No need to get all worked up. The worst thing that could happen was he let the kids slack off for a day. Hardly the recipe for a nightmare, in his mind at all.

Still, just to be extra sure, the man glanced down at the space below him. It seemed silly to worry about it, but the sight of his pants still firmly belted to the lower half of his body filled Crowley with an overwhelming sense of relief. Wasn’t that the way the cliche nightmare went? Showing up to school while simultaneously forgetting to put pants on?

No sign of a nightmare here. Just an ordinary, if not a bit bizarre dream. Crowley shrugged, stepping forward to slip on his shoes and hoist the bag that was clearly his over his right shoulder.

It was only once he picked it up that the man noticed a thin woven band tied around the end of it, wrapping itself around the metal link attaching the strap to the side of the bag. Something about the threads felt familiar to him, but Crowley could not place where he’d seen it before. The colors themselves were beautiful. Bright blues and purples with silver star-like patterns scattered across the surface. He smiled at the sight of it, reaching down so his thumb brushed up against the woven pattern as he turned to face Newton once more.

“Lead the way.”

* * *

When Aziraphale entered his classroom on the morning of September 2nd, every single pair of eyes fell on him. All chatter stopped and the class of year sixes immediately moved to their seats. Not a single word was spoken as Aziraphale set his things down, quickly glancing around to see what might be the matter. 

A cursory glance at the window to his right revealed nothing obviously wrong with his face or attire. Aziraphale was wearing his tride and true khaki pants, brown belt, and a pale blue button up with a blue and white tartan bowtie. Part of him had feared he’d spilled something on himself without realizing, but after staring at his reflection for a few seconds, the man came to the conclusion that nothing visually was off.

If his clothes looked fine, and he didn’t have any leftover pastry on his face, what were the children so concerned about? They hadn’t said a word yet, but it would have been impossible to miss the sudden change in atmosphere. A far cry from their usual buzz of energy in the mornings.

“Are you feeling better today, Mr. Fell?” an unruly haired boy by the name of Brian asked from his spot towards the back of the room. “You were acting very strange yesterday.”

Aziraphale frowned. Strange? Whatever did the boy mean. He didn’t remember acting strange at all. True, yesterday’s memories were a bit fuzzy, but all the days seemed to blend into each other from time to time.

“What sort of strange things did I do?” he asked, choosing to address the elephant in the room.

The children seemed to visibly relax some as Aziraphale took up his favorite position, leaning up against the edge of his desk as he faced them. For the past seven years, he had been a grade school teacher here at Tadfield Primary School. While he was expected to teach a wide variety of subjects, it was no secret that the classic literature lessons were his favorites. Aziraphale’s own passion for the subject tended to invigorate his students. Often times, he took up this exact position as they talked through the week’s reading assignment and watched with delight in his heart as energy quickly filled the room.

“You forgot all our names,” a boy at the back of the room - Adam Young - declared. The girl seated beside him snickered, her dark curls already slipping out of the ponytail perched at the top of our head. “And yours.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I forgot my own name?” How very unlike him.

Several of the students giggled at the response. “You started making fun of it,” Pepper reminded him, a wide grin on her face. “Said your parents must have been crazy to name you something as ridiculous as Aziraphale Fell.”

The man smiled at his students, glad that they were beginning to relax once more. “It is a pretty awful sounding name,” he admitted, causing another echo of laughter to ripple across the room. The anxiety that had welled up inside of him at their silence was quickly beginning to dissipate. Nothing was wrong here. He just had to keep them talking a bit and everything would go back to normal. “Be that as it may, I’ve grown quite fond of it over the years. I think I’ll keep it.”

“You also misplaced your copy of Peter Pan,” the fourth boy of the group of friends who had been quickest to bounce back replied. His first name was Jeremy, but on the first day of class, he’d made it known he preferred the name Wensleydale. Wensley for short. “And had us go on a hunt through the classroom to find it.”

“Goodness me,” Aziraphale breathed, certain that sounded nothing like him. Sure, he had plenty of books, and he misplaced some of them from time to time, but they were reading Peter Pan as a class this month. He always made sure to keep one copy of the book in his desk at all times, so he could reference it as needed. “Did you all find it?”

Several of the students shook their heads. One girl, Isabelle, informed him, “you had us act out the Disney movie instead.”

Oh dear. This wouldn’t do at all. Aziraphale had no idea if this was some kind of class prank or if he really had done all those things yesterday. Whatever the cause for his students’ unease upon seeing him enter the room, it had ceased now. Their worries had been forgotten as the children erupted into conversation, remembering what an apparently fun day they’d all had the day before.

He let them talk for a moment, taking the time to return to the other side of his desk and get his books and notes situated. Aziraphale let his mind wander, trying to bring back any memory of what might have occurred the previous day, but everything was hazy. It seemed the harder he tried to remember what had happened, the further and further away the memory seemed.

“Alright everyone,” Aziraphale’s voice drifted over the clamour and one by one the students turned toward him. “Pull out your vocabulary books and do the exercises on page fifteen. I’ll give you all about ten minutes, and then you’ll swap notebooks for corrections.”

Immediately, the students got to work. Aziraphale smiled to himself and reached inside the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out a pair of small golden keys. He liked to think he was a decent teacher. Aziraphale liked the job well enough. He enjoyed interacting with the students and sharing his love of literature with them. 

For the most part, they seemed to like him too. Year Six was a special year to teach, in his opinion. They were the oldest students in the building, with the Year Sevens moving onward to the secondary school on the other end of town. Children their age were bright and inquisitive. They still had a love for learning that was infectious and looked up to him as their teacher. Aziraphale had heard countless horror stories about what it was like teaching teenagers and he knew he wanted no part in it. Ten and eleven year olds? Perfectly fine in his book for the time being.

Eventually, he’d save up enough money for a down payment and move to London. Aziraphale’s greatest goal in life was to own a quiet old bookshop in the center of the bustling city. He wanted to cultivate a space where students could come and study. Where people could meet and discuss familiar texts with their friends. He wanted to create a place where people never wanted to leave. Where they could find new friends and new adventures, all within the faded pages of an old, love-worn book.

For now, though, his life was teaching. And Aziraphale was perfectly alright with that.

Gently, he slid the key in the top of his desk drawer, wiggling it just the right way to get it to open. There, on top of all the boxes of extra pencils and pens, sat a faded copy of Peter Pan. Exactly where it ought to be.

“How very odd,” the man murmured to himself, his voice cutting off as blue eyes slid back up to the top of his desk and the stacks of loose paper left lying about. Most of them were papers he recognized. Notes on his upcoming lectures. Worksheets he intended to hand out later today. But peeking out underneath from the very bottom of the stack was a page that was out of place. Slightly crumpled and a shade of cream just off from white, it stuck out like a sore thumb and Aziraphale found himself drawn to it.

Without a word, the man reached down and tugged it out. A single sheet of parchment revealed itself with words written across it in a set of handwriting he didn’t recognize.

_Who are you?_

Who are you? What kind of a question was that? Aziraphale turned it over in his hand. There was no further message. Just those three words written out in someone else's handwriting. Left on his desk, with his things, in a place only he could get to. Unless the janitor had come in late last night to do some maintenance, no one else had access to this room. And yet, somehow, this note had appeared with no explanation at all. No name. No other questions or facts. Just three words.

How very odd indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! First real chapter of the fic, here we go!! This one is going to be an interesting one to write in terms of Crowley and Aziraphale's interactions with each other (for those of you familiar with the movie, you'll understand why). Thank you so much for your words of encouragement in the first chapter! Getting such a positive response always motivates me to work on the story more. I've got the entire outline done and will do my best to keep the pace going.
> 
> Side note - as you all saw by the picture posted in the last chapter - I've been working on my art a lot these past few months. Is that something you'd want to see included in this fic? I don't think I'll do an illustration for each chapter, but if I were to add in a few more, would you be interested in seeing them as we go?


	3. Chapter 3

_ Is this the real life _

_ Is this just fantasy _

_ Caught in a landslide _

_ No escape from reality _

Aziraphale let out a soft groan as the music began to sound by the side of his bed. The timbre of the singer’s voice coupled with the fact that there was a singer at all clouded his mind with confusion. He was sure he’d set his bedside radio to the classical station, like he always did when he needed to wake up at a certain time for something. Where had this bebop come from? Had he accidentally bumped the device sometime in the night while he’d slept? 

Yawning, the man rolled over, reaching over blindly for where he knew the off switch to be. Instead of coming into contact with the solid black box, Aziraphale’s hand fell through empty space, coming to land on the nightstand beside him. He blinked his eyes open, the melody still marching along as the man’s vision began to focus.

His radio was missing. As was his journal and glass of water and anything else he might have left on his nightstand before falling asleep. In fact, the entire piece of furniture itself had been swapped out for one much darker in color. It was new and sleek and held no evidence of stains or dents that Aziraphale knew to be there.

What was the meaning of this? Was this Newton’s idea of a joke? His housemate and best friend was about as much of a prankster as Aziraphale was. What had come over him to try and pull something like this off? The sheer ridiculousness of it made Aziraphale want to laugh if he wasn’t so irritated by the music still sounding throughout the room from an undisclosed location.

“Newton?” Aziraphale called, hopping out of bed as he glanced around the room. “Newton, just what exactly is the meaning of this?”

It was only after Aziraphale stood up and the covers slipped off his body that he realized he was naked. Well, not naked,  _ exactly _ , but he was wearing far less clothing than he normally did. Where were his tartan pajamas? Or his nightcap? Why had he been reduced to a pair of grey and black striped boxers?

Without a word, Aziraphale rushed to the closest mirror he could find. His heart was racing in his chest, palms beginning to shake as he stopped and stared for a very long time. Hours or days could have gone by and the man doubted he would have taken any notice. He was too preoccupied by staring over at the tousled red hair and honey brown eyes that were currently staring back at him from the glass, mirroring his every movement.

“Good heavens, what is this nightmare?” an unfamiliar voice echoed back from a face that was not his own. Aziraphale didn’t have long hair, and it certainly wasn’t red. He didn’t have brown eyes or a long, thin nose. He didn’t have bony shoulders or freckles dotting his skin or the absence of a protruding stomach. He didn’t sleep bare chested, he didn’t sleep in a bedroom with no books and new furniture and he  _ certainly _ didn’t live anywhere near a road with so much noisy traffic.

Hang on.

Aziraphale paused and tore his gaze away from the stranger’s face. There it was. He could hear the sound of dozens and dozens of cars driving by his window. Far more than should be out and about in Tadfield, for that matter. Even if every single person who owned a car in the small town got on the road at the same time, it wouldn’t sound nearly as busy as this.

Quickly, he moved to the window, pulling the shades aside just enough to get a peek at what was going on. The moment his eyes adjusted to the bright morning light, Aziraphale found himself gaping in awe. He wasn’t in Tadfield anymore. There wasn’t a single leafy tree or winding path. No tiny cottages all lined up in a row. Even the school where he worked appeared to be missing from the landscape. It had all been entirely obscured by building upon building upon building. Some old. Some new. Some with cute little signs hanging outside the shop windows. Others with no evidence anyone lived there at all.

He wasn’t in Tadfield anymore, that much Aziraphale was sure of. And if he wasn’t in Tadfield, well….where exactly was he?

The music still playing from somewhere near his bed abruptly changed tune. Aziraphale jumped in surprise and hurried over toward the sound, focusing his attention until he found a rather large, flat device sitting face down on the floor just underneath where the quilt had fallen. He picked it up and studied it for a moment, trying to figure out what the letter ‘B’ followed by a cartoon picture of a bumblebee illuminating the device could possibly mean.

Only then did he notice the small green phone-like icon in the bottom left of the screen.

“Hello?” Aziraphale asked in a voice that was very much not his own. A voice that wasn’t his in a body that wasn’t his inside a room that wasn’t his. He was starting to think he’d somehow ended up in a very strange dream.

_ You missed breakfast,  _ a dry voice on the other line began. Aziraphale blinked. Breakfast? What time was it? And who was this person calling him? He glanced around for a clock hanging on one of the walls, but there was none to be found. Based off the sudden growling of his stomach, he was inclined to believe this mystery person - whoever they might be.

“I did?” It came out as more of a question than an affirmation. The voice in his ear scoffed.

_ Honestly, AJ. Is it so difficult to set an alarm? _

AJ? Aziraphale was at a loss for words. Who was AJ?

“I did,” he protested, sure he’d set his radio to go off at 7am. He always set his alarm for that early, to ensure he had enough time to finish what he needed to before making the trek to school. “Who’s AJ?”

If it was possible to hear a pair of eyes rolling, that is the noise that would have sounded in Aziraphale’s ear during that moment. A soft sigh sounded followed by what the man could only describe as an irritated fondness of someone who must know this AJ character very much.

_ Did you forget your own name? Good lord. I don’t know what you would do without me. _

Silence fell between the pair as Aziraphale tried to figure out what he was missing. It was obvious this was a dream now - there was no other explanation. Even still, his sleeping mind had created this entire fantasy life. He might as well make the most of it while he was here.

_ Our test, Anthony!  _ This ‘B’ person almost yelled into the earpiece.  _ We were supposed to meet on campus for breakfast before our Lit exam, are you daft? _

“Oh, right,” Aziraphale stuttered, not wanting to upset this person anymore than he already had. His heart had seized at the mention of a test - reminding him of all the nightmares he’d experienced growing up. Aziraphale had been a model student, but that didn’t stop the fears from finding their way in. That didn’t stop the dozens of nightmares appearing out of nowhere - of tests forgotten and missed alarms and running so fast he was out of breath by the time he arrived. Out of breath and almost always missing a pair of trousers.

There was nothing he could do right now about running late or missing breakfast or unexpected tests, but Aziraphale’s dream had conveniently placed him inside a bedroom. One with a closet and dresser and, hopefully, a wide selection of trousers that would at the very least prevent this one aspect of his usual nightmares from coming true.

“So….where exactly am I supposed to go?”

* * *

London. Aziraphale was in  _ London. _

He realized it immediately as soon as he stepped outside. This AJ character he had created with his mind lived in Mayfair, right off of Piccadilly street. Green Park sat right across the street, and through the changing leaves in the treetops, if he angled his head just right, Aziraphale could see the very back of Buckingham Palace.

“How splendid,” the man murmured to himself as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. How Aziraphale wished he could take the day to simply explore the city. He’d been to London before, several times as a child on school field trips, but he’d only ever been to the main tourist attractions. Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey - Aziraphale had hardly had any time to explore the streets or the parks or anything else that made London so exciting.

A twelve minute metro ride later, Aziraphale found himself standing outside of UCL, staring up at the ten strong pillars that made up the front of the main building. What was he here for again? Some kind of literature test? Aziraphale had no concept of where he was supposed to be going, but the person who had called him earlier agreed to meet him in this area before their class started. Now where could they be?

“Anthony J. Crowley,” a voice sounded behind his ear. Aziraphale turned just as a thin arm slung its way around his shoulders. At his side was a slightly smaller individual with tousled black hair cut short around their ears and the back of their neck. Parts of it were sticking out at the front and sides and Aziraphale had to assume it had been done on purpose. “That is your name, isn’t it? Or have you been lying to me all these years?”

He was met with a warm grin and Aziraphale felt himself beginning to relax some. Even if he knew this was all just a dream, it was nice to have a friendly face by his side.

“Yes,” Aziraphale attempted to laugh, hoping the sound came across as genuine. “As far as I know.”

His friend grinned again, a glint of teasing lighting up their pale blue eyes. For the first time, Aziraphale realized he couldn’t exactly tell whether this person he apparently knew was a man or woman. They had a slender build with a bit of a rounded face and dimples when they smiled. The comfy black trousers and oversized grey sweater didn’t lean one way or another. In fact, the only bright colors Aziraphale could identify on them at all were the rainbow accents on their black, ankle high boots.

He supposed it didn’t matter. This was a dream, after all, and even if it hadn’t been, who was he to tell anyone how they should or shouldn’t present themselves? As long as his friend was happy, that was all that mattered. 

“Please tell me you at least remember my name?” they asked, looking up at him as they began tugging him toward a building off to their left. Aziraphale frowned, wondering if this could be as straightforward a question as it seemed, or if there was some kind of trick. All evidence he’d seen today pointed to one correct answer, but somehow it seemed so odd and out of place that Aziraphale immediately started second guessing himself.

“Bee?” he finally ventured, thinking of the single letter and insect that had popped up on his phone earlier that morning. Why else would that have been put in the contact information if it wasn’t the name they wanted to be called.

“Don’t sound so sure of yourself,” Bee teased and Aziraphale knew he’d gotten it right. “You never know when I might decide to change it again.”

Aziraphale laughed, and this time it actually was genuine. Perhaps this dream wasn’t so much of a nightmare after all. Bee had said this was a literature test they were going to take. Surely, out of all the possible subjects, this was the sort of thing Aziraphale was most prepared for. He would do just fine. All he had to do was concentrate and he would be done in no time. And  _ then,  _ well, maybe then he could finally explore the city.

“Right,” Bee declared, leading the way. “Let’s go pass this test with flying colors and then  _ you _ ,” they stopped, spinning around to lock eyes with Aziraphale, “owe me some lunch.”

* * *

“I  _ still _ can’t believe you forgot your own name this morning,” Bee mused as the pair took their seats in a small café just down the street from the university. Apparently, it was one of their favorite places to go in between classes. So much so that Bee had already ordered a plate of cauliflower wings for them to share, confident there would be no objection from him. “What, did I wake you up in the middle of a dream or something?”

Aziraphale frowned, unfolding the napkin to set it gingerly over his lap before reaching for the menu at the edge of the table. “Something like that, I suppose.”

Bee watched him with a look of intrigue etched into the soft creases at the corner of their eyes. “Hungry, are we?”

He nodded slowly, eyes dancing across the page as he took in the multitude of options this place had to offer. Tadfield had nothing like this. They only had one grocery store in the entire town limits and Aziraphale could count one one hand the number of places he could dine in. One of the appeals of moving to London was its vast expanse of cuisine. Even in a small place like this, the man imagined no matter what a person’s tastes were, they could find something appealing.

“I did skip breakfast,” he pointed out, feeling a bit proud of himself at the smile he managed to pull from his friend’s face. Once again, Aziraphale thought about just how  _ strange  _ a dream this really was and wondered if he should be doing something to shock himself out of it, or if letting the events continue to play out was the best course of action. It wasn’t like the man wasn’t enjoying himself. Overall, the experience had been pleasant, if not disorienting at first. And, it gave him the chance to explore the city he planned on moving to one day, once he’d saved up enough money. Quitting early seemed like a waste.

The waitress came by and took his order - three different dishes just for him. Bee sat at the other side of the table, watching with an amused expression as he talked, but only offered up an opinion once the young woman was out of earshot.

“Alright there, big spender.” Once again, there was a teasing element to their voice that Aziraphale found comforting. It was clear that whoever this AJ character was - with his shoulder length red hair and stylish clothing and bag full of pens and books and papers - that this human being at his side was a friend. An old friend, by what Aziraphale had gathered, and even though  _ he  _ had never met them before, his mind had decided to act like he had. “Shall I start looking at the dessert menu? Or would a 5 pound slice of cake put you over the top?”

Aziraphale blinked. There was a dessert menu? How had he missed that? Now he’d gone and ordered too much regular food. There wouldn’t be any room left!

“Order whatever you like,” the man deflected, hoping that if Bee did choose to grab something to go along with their cauliflower, he might be allowed a small sample. “It’s only a dream, after all.”

He hadn’t meant to say anything about the dream. Aziraphale was having a nice time and it seemed to be a common theme with dreams that the moment they were acknowledged out loud was the moment they began to unravel. He waited for the sudden shift in scenery. The abrupt change in what he was experiencing and the confusion as to how he’d gotten there in the first place.

Nothing happened.

No change in location, no new individuals he was interacting with. Bee hadn’t even seemed to acknowledge his strange statement, only further cementing in Aziraphale’s mind that this was absolutely, without a doubt, some kind of dream. 

The appetizers came, then followed by the rest of Aziraphale’s order. He and Bee fell into easy conversation where Aziraphale learned a great deal about his friend’s life as well as the life of Anthony Crowley. He’d been born here in the city, had met Bee when they both had been pre-school aged and had been best friends since. After secondary school, Bee had left to do a few years abroad and AJ had stayed here, working various jobs to take care of his mother.

Most of the conversation was steered towards Bee’s adventures in Japan and other parts of the Pacific Ocean. Aziraphale, himself, had spent a year in Japan while attending university and though he could not share stories of his own while pretending to be Anthony, he did thoroughly enjoy listening to all the tales Bee had to tell, no matter how many times they assured him they’d already told him any particular story.

Afternoon turned to evening as the pair talked over the various courses Aziraphale had ordered. Every bite of the food was absolutely divine and he found himself wishing that he could take it all home with him. Set up a café of his own in Tadfield so his entire community could experience what he had this wondrous afternoon.

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale found himself stuttering through his drink as Bee revealed yet another surprising fact about him. “Gardening. I’d completely forgotten about that.”

Bee smirked reaching forward to take another bite from the slice of pie that rested between them. It was no chocolate cake, but Aziraphale found he didn’t mind. Everything in this café tasted so  _ good _ . He’d never before experienced a dream with so much vivid detail and was starting to resign himself to the disappointment he expected to feel upon waking up.

“What was  _ your _ favorite plant that I cared for?” Aziraphale asked. He’d learned quickly that asking about his own favorites or clarification on what he’d done in the past brought forth a very strange look on Bee’s face. It was best to always turn the conversation back around on them and try and gather as much information as possible from whatever they happened to say.

“Oh,” Bee replied, a wide grin spreading across their face. “Definitely the venus fly trap.”

Aziraphale chuckled, unsure if they were messing with him or if this Anthony person really had raised carnivorous plants alongside his ferns and philodendrons. 

Suddenly, a soft tune began playing from deep within Aziraphale’s pocket. Startled, the man reached for it, gritting his teeth as the infernal device snagged on the inside of his trouser pockets. Why on earth and in heaven did these pants have to be so tight?

Finally, Aziraphale managed to fish the device out. He fumbled with it for a moment, pressing every button he could think of to shut the sound off, but nothing he tried appeared to be working. After several seconds of bemused spectatorship, Bee leaned forward and reached across the table toward the phone that just  _ would not stop _ . The second their fingers made contact, silence fell around them. Aziraphale met their gazed with a sheepish expression of his own.

“Looks like you’ve got a shift tonight. Better get going or you’ll be late.” It was all Aziraphale could do to simply nod his head in agreement. The screen had lit up briefly with the word ‘work’ in deep black letters, corresponding with the calendar alarm. All indications pointed to the clear sign that he did, in fact, have work tonight. In precisely fifteen minutes.

There was only one problem with this situation.

“Um, where is it that I work again?”

Bee laughed, full and loud and pure and Aziraphale knew that moment, despite his worries and his doubts and his sudden yearning to be back home in his own bed, he was going to be alright.

* * *

If dreams happened while a person was asleep, shouldn’t they at least be somewhat restful? Shouldn’t they leave the individual with a sense of calm and tranquility upon waking up? He certainly thought that should be the case, but apparently his dreams had other ideas. Aziraphale had never felt so frazzled in his life. And he was certain if he woke up from this dream now, he would simply fall right back into it out of sheer exhaustion.

This character he’d created in his head - this Anthony J. Crowley - worked as a waiter at an Italian restaurant just north of Soho. Taking orders, delivering food, fetching drinks and alcohol and any number of other things. From 4pm until the restaurant closed at 11, Aziraphale was on his feet without even a moment to catch his breath.

“When is this nightmare going to end?” the man muttered to himself with gritted teeth as he dropped off yet another bowl of minestrone at a table by the door. Turning around and glancing briefly at the grandfather clock standing in the corner of the room, Aziraphale sighed. Still two more hours to go and there was no sign of the dinner rush slowing down at all. What normal person ate dinner at 9pm? What restaurant was even still  _ open _ this late? All the ones in Tadfield would have been closing by now, and Aziraphale would be tucked in bed writing in his journal or reading one of his trusty books. 

Instead, he was stuck in this restaurant, fetching meals, getting yelled at by his superiors, and dealing with some of the worst customers imaginable.

“Hey you - waiter.”

Aziraphale turned at the call, assuming it had to be directed at him. The voices sounded too close to me meant for anyone else. Slowly, his eyes scanned the room and eventually fell upon a trio of men at a table to his left, all looking up at him expectantly.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Aziraphale addressed the man to the right, who was gesturing down at his plate with a smug smile beginning to spread across his face. It was clear this man and his friends were important people. Or, rather, they dressed that way with their expensive suits and fancy watches, and expected others to treat them differently because of it. Aziraphale didn’t like these sorts of people, but he didn’t fancy getting fired either - even if this all was a dream. So he kept his mouth shut as the man continued.

“See this?” He pointed down to his plate and the half eaten pizza that still remained. “Does it look right to you?”

Aziraphale kept his gaze on the plate, pretending to study it as he waited for the man to get to the point. It was obvious he had one and was only talking down to Aziraphale because it made his small, feeble mind feel better about himself.

“A  _ toothpick  _ is in it,” he pointed out, finger hovering over the small wooden rod that stuck out from one side, perfectly placed halfway in and out of the crust. “What would have happened if we  _ ate _ it?”

Aziraphale was at a loss for what to say. It was clear to him that this man had placed the toothpick there on purpose to try and get a free meal out of the situation. He’d never understand why people did those sorts of things. There were plenty of other restaurants in London that sold similar food for cheaper. If the price was a problem, why come to an establishment like this in the first place?

“It’s really lucky I noticed when I did,” the man explained, elongating his words as if he assumed Aziraphale did not understand the severity of the situation. If a toothpick really had accidentally been baked into his dish, someone could have gotten seriously hurt. Aziraphale didn’t doubt that at all. He was more concerned with the implied ‘accidental’ bit, for several reasons. 

“We don’t even have toothpicks here - “Aziraphale started before taking a moment to even consider what he  _ should _ be doing in such a situation. It just seemed so unfair that these men could lie so easily and try and cheat the restaurant out of what was owed.

Before he could even finish the sentence, and say something he likely shouldn’t, Aziraphale was joined by another staff member who quickly interceded. A swift glance revealed long brown hair tied up in a neat bun atop her head. She was wearing the traditional black and white uniform, but chose to don a skirt rather than the set of trousers Aziraphale had on.

“Is everything alright over here?”

He knew her name. Aziraphale vaguely remembered some of the other young men talking about her right before she’d arrived for her shift, but for the life of him, he could not remember what it was. 

As the men began to speak with her instead, the woman’s brown eyes flashed over to his face for the briefest of seconds. “I’ll take care of this,” she murmured under her breath, so quiet Aziraphale was sure no one else would have been able to hear her. Relief flooded through him as he slowly backed away, thankful that someone else was taking the brunt of the situation. He was confident she would be able to smooth them over and appease whatever their demands might be much better than he ever could.

As tired as he was, and as much as he wished he could get back to his reality, the rest of the night seemed to fly by. Before Aziraphale knew it, the sounds of Big Ben could be heard chiming throughout the streets, signaling the end of the night. All that was left to do was clean up the chairs and tables and then they could go home.

“Thanks for earlier,” Aziraphale began as he approached the young woman who had helped him a few hours prior. Now that the customers had all left and Aziraphale was no longer expected to wait on them hand and foot, he was able to get a better look at his savior. She was a few inches shorter than this body he’d been stuck in, with tanned skin and deep brown eyes peeking out from round spectacles perched on her nose. The woman was pretty, in an unconventional way. She wore minimal makeup, from what Aziraphale could tell, and still her eyes were alluring, showing a spark of intelligence the man recognized instantly. Her checks held a steady flush and her skin looked absolutely flawless.

Even if he wasn’t attracted to her, Aziraphale could easily see how many of the other young men who worked here would be.

“It was nothing.” She smiled at him and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile back. “Not your fault at all, Crowley. Those guys were certainly scamming us. I handled it according to policy, but - “

Before Aziraphale could ask how she was doing or why she had chosen to call him by his supposed surname, another voice beside them gasped as one of the other female employees cried out, “Anathema, your skirt!”

Both pairs of eyes looked down and, sure enough, there was a several centimeter long tear right down the center of Anathema’s skirt, exposing much of what was underneath. The fabric on either side of the gap was clean, as if it had been cut by a sharp blade rather than snagging on something else.

Color rose to Anathema’s cheeks and Aziraphale immediately took charge. He grabbed Anathema by the hand and all but dragged her into the back room, shutting the door immediately behind them before directing her in a calm, but clear voice.

“Take off your skirt.”

In any other situation, with any other woman, Aziraphale imagined such a statement would have caused offense or disgust. Considering what had happened to her earlier that evening, Anathema would have been well within her rights to slap him across the face for suggesting such a thing, but she didn't. Anathema had this sense about her - like she could see right through him and sense his pure intentions. So she did as he asked, slipping her skirt off easily as he did the same with his vest, handing it over for her to use as a cover while he got to work.

Aziraphale didn’t know what possessed him to even offer his help. It wasn’t like he was carrying around his usual bag or was in his classroom that had some emergency needle and thread stashed away, but the man was determined to make due. He began rummaging around the storage room, sifting through drawers until he found some random bits of colored thread and a push pin that would have to be good enough.

“Wow, Crowley,” Anathema remarked as she watched him work to sew up the tear as best he could. As a young boy, Aziraphale’s mother had worked part time as a seamstress in town. She’d spent many evenings and weekends teaching him a thing or two about needlework and different types of stitching that now the man was able to make simple alterations and repairs on his own. Cleaning up a slit skirt was easy work. “You’re really good at this.”

Aziraphale shrugged, trying not to blush as he studied his work. He’d attempted to make a simple spring scene - some grass to cover up the tear, a flower or two and a handful of butterflies fluttering about. It wasn’t the best embroidery he’d done, but he supposed it didn’t look too terrible as long as the person looking didn’t get too close. “I could make it look nicer if I had my usual threads at home. But this will do for now.”

Anathema smiled, and they traded clothes again. She angled her body backward to look at the craftsmanship once the skirt was situated around her waist once more. He might be critical of the job, but if she was happy, well, that’s all that really mattered.

“It’s getting late,” Anathema pointed out as she took a half step toward the door. By now, most of the employees still there had likely cleared out for the night. There wasn’t much left for them to do except lock up and go home. “We should probably get going.”

“Do you live far from here?” Aziraphale found himself asking, a soft nervousness beginning to grow inside his stomach. After what she’d just been through, the thought of her walking home alone, through the dark, was not one that filled Aziraphale with much comfort.

Anathema shook her head. “Just a few blocks. Over toward Piccadilly. You?”

Relief flooded him. He smiled, taking a few steps forward toward the door. Gently, he opened it up, his eyes meeting hers as a moment of understanding and newfound camaraderie seemed to flash between them. 

“I’m heading that way as well. Allow me to walk you home?”

A smile. A nod. A sign that his company would be welcome and that this eternity long dream - nightmare might actually end on a positive note.

“I’d be honored.”

* * *

_ Is this the real life _

_ Is this just fantasy _

_ Caught in a landslide _

_ No escape from reality _

Crowley let out a soft groan as the familiar ringtone sounded through the air. He rolled over, reaching for the phone and finding it surprisingly right on the corner of his nightstand. A quick press of a button and the sound abruptly died. Silence filled the room and for a moment, the red-haired man considered rolling over and going right back to sleep.

What an utterly strange dream he’d just had. The details were quickly fading, but he recalled bits and pieces of a classroom. It wasn’t one at the university, but instead centered in a small countryside town. There had been children there. Lots of them. Young ones that Crowley had interacted with somehow...doing….something.

The details were lost on him now and the man begrudgingly pulled himself out of bed and hobbled over to the mirror hanging inside his closet. He blinked, brow furrowing as he took in the baggy sweatpants and shirt that currently hung around his thin frame. What in the world -?

Before he could figure out exactly what he was  _ wearing _ , the man’s honey-brown eyes were drawn to the upper right corner of the reflective material. There, scrawled in small, neat handwriting was a message that read:

_ My name is Aziraphale. Who are you? _

A flash of memory appeared and then vanished from his mind. A desk and a piece of paper wedged underneath a stack of papers. His own handwriting coming from a hand that very much did not belong to him.

_ Who are you? _

Crowley certainly hadn’t written this response, and yet, here it was. Plain as day, in a place that he couldn’t miss. Almost as if someone knew what he might do. As if someone had anticipated his moves and placed the words here where he’d be sure to find them.

But how could they have done this? Why would they write this particular message? And, most importantly...

“Who the bloody hell is Aziraphale?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there was a lot going on in this chapter, but I wanted to get the exposition done with as soon as possible so we could really get into the swing of things! A lot of this story is going to center around the relationships Crowley and Aziraphale form with each other's friends, so I felt it was important to have both Bee and Anathema show up this early.
> 
> Hopefully you all don't mind longer chapters, because I feel like I've forgotten how to write shorter ones. Thanks so much for the words of encouragement so far!! They really keep me motivated and wanting to continue working on this fic :) See you all next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I know I've been silent for a while. Winter is a tough season for me, and I burnt out hard with writing. This idea has been in my head for a while now and after drawing the cover for it, I decided to give writing it a shot. No promise on how frequent updates will be, as I'll be trying to work on my other fics as well.
> 
> If you're enjoying the story, please feel free to leave kudos or comments!! I love reading what you guys have to say and interacting with all of you <3 You all make writing for this fandom worthwhile. 
> 
> This fic is based on one of my all time favorite movies Kimi no Na wa (Your Name) by Makoto Shinkai. If you have not seen it, I highly recommend it. The animation is breathtaking and the story will capture your heart. I'll be changing a lot of details to make the Good Omens characters we know and love fit the story better, but at the heart, it will be the same tale. If you've seen the movie, you have a good idea what's coming. If you haven't, buckle up and enjoy the ride.


End file.
